Best Laid Plans
by bigedwards
Summary: In which Dr. Horrible needs a drink and Captain Hammer has a plan. Slash. rated T just in case.


Captain Hammer is not gay. Of that he is emphatically certain. Any thoughts to the contrary were simply preposterous!

Heroes of his stature, he feels, simply do not stoop to levels quite as low as homosexuality. Oh, granted, it's fine for common do-gooders, and mildly acceptable for heroes in the minor leagues, but for men, real men (such as himself), in the_ super_-hero category (a completely different confederacy all together) it is simply _against the rules_ (unspoken rules, of course, because supermen have to be against prejudice of any sort. They find that it is almost cheating otherwise). However unspoken, nevertheless, these rules still remain.

(That nasty occurrence with Lightning and Cloud Axe always tends to come to mind if ever any members of the super-hero club are tempted by a bit too-tight spandex.).

Needless to say, Captain Hammer is all for not breaking rules. Especially since he is really quite partial to Mr. Awesome Man's exquisite éclairs (a favorite amongst many at the club's get-togethers) and he realizes any rule breaking (especially _that_ rule) would insure permanent separation from said pastries (also, the super-hero club has a really good health and dental plan).

So, in turn, he becomes as positively homophobic as is possible (perhaps a tad too much so) to hide his, er, _rule breaking problem_ from his co-heroes (and himself, really) and to remain close to the éclairs that he so desires. So _that_, in turn, results in many screwed and skewered ladies and a (excuse me) fuck load of anti depressants, which he often takes with alcohol. This, consequently, results in a loss of brain cells. Not, all together, a healthy cycle to be in.

On the other hand, he manages to not conform himself completely because he keeps a strict 'don't ask don't tell' policy with himself. If, while inebriated, he were to, say, go to a certain bar and use his wiles to pick up a certain member of some sort of sex and bring them back to the Ham-Cave and have his way with them, it's fine by him.

He simply puts it out of his head.

He'll wake up with a hangover and make his way over to the tramp-of-the-week's house and screw her for a bit and promptly forget about the night before. It works out for everyone.

And, best of all, the only person that knows Captain Hammer really likes men is Captain Hammer.

Ah… _Except_ for Dr. Horrible. But Captain Hammer likes to think he's smoothed that little issue over quite nicely.

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The wind is blowing. Loudly. It's also 3 AM. Loudly. (Normally, 3 is not a very loud time, but on this particular night it succeeds in doing so). Dr. Horrible is snuggled in bed under a heavy wool quilt (courtesy of his grandmother) and trying to sleep when his door bell rings. Loudly.

On any other night, at any other time, he would have ignored it. It could've been a mugger. A mugger with a vendetta (not that he had many blood feuds with muggers, but one might never know) that would shank him the instant he opened the door.

However, it's three (loudly) and windy (loudly) and he knows Moist has started his very first night job that evening (not, actually, quite so loudly. but damply. very damply).

So he crawls out from under the warm orange, green, and brown (don't blame gram-gram. She was blind as a bat anyway) comforter and proceeds to the front door of their apartment.

(On the way there he adds to the noise by tripping over a stack of magazines, stumbling on a discarded invention, and shrieking (loudly) after stubbing his toe on one of the legs of their coffee table).

By that time it is 3:05(in the bloody _morning!_) and Dr. Horrible has had quite enough. He is thoroughly exhausted and desperately wants to get back to bed.

He's also rather upset because he was having a simply marvelous dream- This (and the issue of his painfully stubbed-_he thinks it's broken, really he does_-toe) are why it has not occurred to him that, if Moist truly were outside, he would have used his key.

Dr. Horrible is fully expecting his roommate to be shivering on their doorstep.

So, when the super-villain throws open the door of his apartment-with a flourish that would have shamed any self-respecting magician- wearing only boxers and a ratty pruce colored robe he had found at a thrift shop, he is very taken back by the fact that his roommate is _not_ shivering on his door step.

Instead, it's Captain Hammer who is shivering on the doorstep of his apartment. _A grinning Captain Hammer_. Dr. Horrible gulps and realizes that his painfully stubbed toe is the least of his problems.

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It had seemed like a good idea at the time. A great idea, he would have said, had anyone asked. However, upon the formulation of the "great idea" he's had several drinks in him and would have (theoretically, of course) punched the officer that pulled him over instead of even attempting to walk a straight line.

Still, Captain Hammer was just in between drunk and not enough to plan. And what a plan it is! Simple and elegant, really. He doesn't know why he hasn't thought of it before. Its child's play, it is. And, at this time of night he could easily catch the good (bad) doctor unawares. He's very proud of himself.

Unfortunately, Frank, the bartender, has a bad habit of getting people to drink "just one last shot for old time sakes" (an unfortunate personality trait in a bartender, upon reflection).

That last drink is enough to put the super hero over his edge, which is why; upon reaching the interstate, he thinks it would be a good idea to take a quick shortcut through the rather sinister looking woods.

This is also why Captain Hammer is walking through fore mentioned woods by himself, because his car has suddenly become quite intimated with an oak tree. But he is fine. He is Captain Hammer and he is big, strong, and manly. He can handle some trees and bushes. He can handle somewhat ominous noises.

And, Captain Hammer thinks, if an axe murder were to burst out from the underbrush, he will just punch him in the face (that hurt murders too, didn't it?).

Besides, he has a mission. He can be practical. Mass murderers do not live in trees. That's monkeys, or something.

Fifteen minutes later, emerging panting and terror stricken from his shortcut, he stops in the street and smoothes his hair down.

That, he reflects, was most likely not the brightest thing he has ever done.

He will have to return for his car in the morning, but at the moment he has a more pressing matter to attend to (like dealing with his nemesis and protecting his title as hero-of-the-year, for example).

Unfortunately, somewhere between his epic battle against the raccoon and his sobbing for his mother, all his careful planning has slipped out of his head. In fact, he really can't remember why he's even outside of his nemesis's home to begin with.

However, the wind has begun to chill him and he's awfully thirsty and he's been walking a really looong time…

So, during a night ripe with good-ideas-that-aren't-very-good-at-all, he comes up with another one.

And that is how Captain Hammer comes to be standing on Dr. Horrible's doorstep at three in the morning in sub-freezing weather ringing the door bell.

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At that point, Dr. Horrible regrets his decent into a life of crime, because there is no one he wants to call more than the cops.

He has slammed the door in Captain Hammer's face and is currently crouched behind the couch with his cell phone in his hand, trying not to hyperventilate because he knows-he knows that he has no time to make it to his lab, and without weapons brawn beats brain into a bloody pulp every time-

His first instinct is to call Moist; his roommate has a way about his that is terribly calming (most likely due to the pot he is addicted to, but Dr. Horrible overlooks that part) and the super villain desperately needs to know that help-of any sort, really- is on the way.

However, making the already soggy Captain Hammer damp is not Dr. Horrible's idea of a rescue plan.

He is seriously considering making a dash for the window -he's _only_ 4 stories up-, when a slightly slurred and muffled voice drifts through his door "Do you wanna… open this, or should I just knock it down? Because a puny little…_door_ is not going to keep me out, _docto_r."

Dr. Horrible realizes that Captain Hammer, in his infinite wisdom, has a point.

A door made out of cheap wood would not keep the man who recently flung a 3 ton water fountain at his head out. Dr. Horrible, feeling as though his hands are tied, comes to the conclusion that Captain Hammer will, most likely, not kill him _immediately_.

If at all.

_It is quite possible that he simply wants to talk_, Dr. Horrible reassures his self (on the other hand, Captain Hammer often did his talking with his fists).

So Dr. Horrible crawls out from behind the couch; yanks open the door a crack, and peeks out. Captain Hammer is leaning against the door frame in what he obviously thinks is the picture of ease (his rapidly twitching fingers ruin the image) and wearing his most charming-and roguish- smile.

"Pretty dark…ish", Captain Hammer stops for a minute in an attempt to determine whether or not his observation has made any sense before he continues on, "out tonight, wouldn't you agree?"

Dr. Horrible mumbles something that sounds vaguely threatening.

"Well, well, welly, welly, well. Still sore after our last encounter, doctor?" the hero's black boots make loud thumps on Dr. Horrible's hard-wood flooring as he pushes past the smaller man and into the cramped living room.

Dr. Horrible thinks that the bastard is going to scuff his floor and it's going to be him down there in the morning scrubbing his butt off.

Which is an idiotic thing to even _contemplate_, because there might not be a "morning".

"Um, why, exactly are you here?" Dr. Horrible twitches nervously.

"Nice apartment" Captain Hammer comments, by way of response. If one listened hard enough, they might be able to detect a smidgen of sarcasm (that is, assuming Captain Hammer even knew what sarcasm was, which was doubtful), but it was very subtle.

Dr. Horrible turns around and-oh horror of horrors- _he's touching things_. _That blundering idiot is stomping around and running his hands over all of his stuff, and he was not doing it carefully._

Dr. Horrible just barely manages to catch the lamp his arch-rival knocks over.

"Is there something" -he's trying to stay in control, he truly is-"you want?" _Get out of my apartment; get out right now you-_

Captain Hammer glances over innocently and collapses into an armchair.

"Nope." He starts fiddling with his belt buckle. His left foot begins to wiggle.

"So," Dr. Horrible pinches the bridge of his nose, "you just thought you'd come over, to-to… _hang out _at 3 in the morning?" The lamp is shoved back onto his desk.

"Uh yeah…um no…um, uh what… You know…So. How's it going with bad dog?" He ends this sentence with a rather unconvincing grin. Dr. Horrible squints suspiciously.

"It's Bad _Horse_. And since when do you care? Wait. What is that _smell_…?" Dr. Horrible sniffs the air, "Is-is that beer? Are you drunk?"

Captain Hammer goes a bit pink in the face before he scoffs "What? Me? You've gotta be kidding. And anyway", Captain Hammer points at him accusatorily, "I just had, like, one. Okay, so you shut your face, before I shut it for you. You got that, doctor?" He raises his eyebrow menacingly.

Dr. Horrible swallows and nods. He decides that the most logical thing to do is to play the gracious host and to figure out how to get the hero out of his home later.

"Can-can I, uh get you anything?" At that point he begins to really notice Captain Hammer's eyes on him. He shifts uncomfortably.

Captain Hammer smirks.

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Okay. So he's trying not to panic. He's trying to act calm, like he knows what he's doing. He also realizes that he's not doing a very good job of it.

He _also_ realizes that his plan has suddenly become incredibly warped.

And that his heart is pounding.

And that he needs to get even _more _drunk for this.

And that he should have taken more time to think up a strategy.

And that Dr. Horrible is shirtless.

And that Dr. Horrible is only wearing his underwear and a robe.

And that he _really_ wishes he's stayed home.

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Dr. Horrible decides not to fight this one. If the man wants booze, he can have it. Besides, he only keeps the cheap stuff in his refrigerator anyway.

He pulls out three and clinks them down on the coffee table (on cup holders, of course. Dr. Horrible just isn't the kind of man to ignore that type of thing) before he seats himself-gingerly- across from Captain Hammer.

Captain Hammer, in turn, only beams widely; he's obliviously pleased with Dr. Horrible's complicity. He snatches the nearest beer bottle and flicks the cap off with his thumb. It sails across the room and hits the wall with a soft-_plink. _

They both watch it, as if waiting for it to make a run for freedom. The cap doesn't move.

Dr. Horrible glances at Captain Hammer and decides he needs a drink as well.

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An hour later, Moist has still not returned home and the two are sufficiently hammered (pun intended).

"You-you remember that time-oh god this is hilarious- when you broke into that bank… first mercy something-or-other-"

"It was First Mercy Bank of Americans, I believe," Dr. Horrible splutters and swills alcohol all down his chest.

"Shhh! D-don't interrupt. Anyways, you broke in and-and I threw that friggin' huge-uh… uh it was"-

"A Donkey?" Dr. Horrible interjects helpfully.

"No! No! And I told you not to inter-inter-interrupt. Oh! It was that statue of that old guy, with the hair. And it smashed you like right in-right in the back, and I was just all 'Bullseye!' You-you remember that?" Captain Hammer finishes his story with an air of accomplishment and sniggers uncontrollably to himself.

Dr. Horrible frowns into his beer. "I didn't think that was very funny…"

"That's where I met that chick that liked to do all those freaky things with her feet," Captain Hammer persists and Dr. Horrible's comment falls on deaf ears.

"I had bruises for weeks…" the villain grumbles. By now the two are seated next to each other on the small sofa. Captain Hammer shoves him.

"Oh man up doc. You'll never get a girl if you whine all the time. Chicks just don't dig that. It's like…gay or something. You got a girlfriend, Horrible?" Dr. Horrible blinks and tries (unsuccessfully) to focus. Girls. Captain Hammer had said something about girls…

"Um there is a really pretty -her name is Penny-and she-she goes to my laundry mat. Does that count?" Dr. Horrible wonders if his living room always spins like this…There is sudden movement next to him on the sofa.

"No. I suppose it doesn't".

It's one of those terribly drunk, uncoordinated kisses that take you completely by surprise. One minute they're both sitting there and the next, Dr. Horrible is sinking into the couch cushions, wide eyed and Captain Hammer's mouth is clamped firmly over his own.

The room lurches to a stop.

Dr. Horrible shoves Captain Hammer off back and jumps up, nearly tripping over Moist's cat, who yowls pitifully.

"What-what the hell was that?" he gasps. His left hand fumbles on the table behind him for the phone while his right feverishly wipes at his lips.

Captain Hammer looks dazed. He hasn't moved from the position he was in when they had locked lips.

"I don't know…" He sounds rather weak. "Too much to drink?" The offer is feeble.

Dr. Horrible feels his face go all hot.

"Is that why you're here? To-to-to make a bloody _move_ on me?" His cell is now held out in front of him, like a weapon.

"What? No! Of course not! I-I just…" To Dr. Horrible he sounds dreadfully desperate. "That's not it at all. Look, you've got to listen, I… just…got carried away." He's standing now, wearing a miserable look on his face and raking his hand through his hair over and over. "It won't happen again, I promise. Just put the phone down."

It's doesn't occur to either of them that there is no one he could actually call. And nobody that would even bother to come over. Still, Dr. Horrible lowers his hand with the air of someone holding an extremely dangerous hand gun.

Captain Hammer visibly relaxes.

They stare at each other. Captain Hammer will not be surprise when the rebuff comes.

"I think," Dr. Horrible stands very still, "That you should probably go." Captain Hammer looks like someone doused him with ice water, but he nods.

"Could you, uh, drive me home?" it's barely more than a whisper. "I kind of…wrecked my car on the way here." He looks at Dr. Horrible with an almost childlike hopefulness.

Dr. Horrible mulls it over. On one hand, the thought of being in close quarters with the man makes him nervous and fidgety. He desperately does not want to be in touching distance. On the other, he's not quite yet a hardened enough villain to make Captain Hammer walk home in the dark.

He slumps in defeat and grabs his coat. Dr. Horrible has the strangest feeling he's going to regret this…

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Captain Hammer is very quiet during the drive home. Actually, they both are. He's certainly not going to say anything and Dr. Horrible wouldn't know how to reply if he did (Dr. Horrible is more focused on not crashing into anything than conversation, anyway).

But really, he reflects, it was a rather nice kiss, once you got down to it. Oh, it was sloppy and the farthest thing from romantic that was possible, but nice.

He also thought that Dr. Horrible tasted rather nice as well. But he's certainly not going to say anything.

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Silence lays heavy like a blanket as they pull up in front of Captain Hammer's mansion. It's pretty impressive, Dr. Horrible has to admit. The super-hero obviously wasn't one to deny himself of any creature comforts.

"Well…" he falters for a bit. "I guess this is it. See you the next time I rob a bank?" Dr. Horrible attempts a grin.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Captain Hammer slips out of the car and is immediately out of sight, but Dr. Horrible waits and listens until the thud of his boots finally fade away before he leaves.

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It isn't until later; after Dr. Horrible is back home scrubbing the scuff marks off of his floor with raggedy old sponge, that he realizes that the kiss might not have been so bad after all. And maybe, just maybe, Captain Hammer might have tasted a little, tiny bit, nice.


End file.
